Why Women Gotta Be so Crazy and Shit?

This Song has nothing to do with this post- I just fuckin love it right now. That's All. Watch this shit.

Ok- now that I gotten that outta the way, let's get after it.  Sometimes I think the ideas from my posts come from one place, (ok, I really only think they come from one place, actual conversations I have with my peeps, usually via text) when in reality they come from another.  More about where this post really came from at the end, but in the interim check out the transcripts from actual texts I exchanged today.   Names have been changed to protect those plotting the destruction of others, and I took a little poetic license cause this is my fucking blog and I can do what I want.
Convo #1
Txtr 1:I'm obsessing about him what should I do
Txtr 2: Chill- you just need to chill the fuck out
Txtr 1: and that includes like leaving a note and shit?
Txtr 2: Yes!
Txtr 1: Ok,ok- that's what I thought I was just making sure.  Why the fuck am I so crazy?
Txtr 2: Because you're a girl. I include myself in that. I really like him too.  Fucking hormones they make us crazy.
Txtr 1: Wait you like him too- this might be a problem.
Txtr 2: no asshole....my him not you're him

Convo #2:
Txtr 1: 2 things- #1- Can I borrow your Wizard of Oz DVD-#2 I had dinner and also sex w/ XYZ Saturday night
Txtr 2: Wizard of Oz -Sure
Txtr 2: XYZ- who the fuck is that?
Txtr 1: Oh I haven't mentioned him? Oh well yea...he's cute.
Txtr 2:  Nice.  The most exciting thing that happened to me this weekend was that I dropped a paint can on my toe and cursed for like 10 mins straight.   Then I imagined, in a pms haze, what it would be like to beat the shit out of my husband for an entire hour.
Txtr #1: Yea that shit happens. Oh!  that reminds me lets have a playdate this week.

Good Shit- which of course leads me to the pondering of why women are so fuckin crazy!  Why do we have these minds that cling and dwell and attempt to parse every single thing to the nth degree? Why do we sometime feel that it might really be ok, even justifiable, to beat the shit of or kill someone.   Why is that? 

We sit around and watch Oprah.  So in awe of her Buda like peacefulness are we as a race we completely gloss over the fact that she's  a gazillionaire.  I'd be a zen as fuck if I had money like that. Or like this.

We read all these books about being in the present moment and accepting what is.  We go to that amazing yoga-Pilate's-transcendental meditation combo class like our life depends on it every other day because it promises to release us from the burden of the monkey mind.

And we come home, make the perfect vegan saute that everyone we lay before adores and the second we pour our post dinner glass a wine and settle in to catch up on email we get some 3 sentence email from our boss that by the time we finish dissecting it like were in fucking third grade English looking for a predicate that has us convinced were headed to the soup kitchen and the unemployment line and we are fucking beating the shit out of ourselves for spending money on botox and meditation because in 3 short weeks we will not be able to feed our children and we decide to crawl inside a bottle of Merlot and start reading the fucking Twilight Series again because life would be so simple if a hot Mormon vampire would just feast on myl bood. 

See how wrote that entire thing with no punctuation?  If you're a woman that's exactly how your mind works- 90 fucking miles an hour with no punctuation. 

So this evening as I was plotting in what way I would answer this timeless question, (I know that's why anyone would ever read this shit to figure out why shit is the way it is that's why I'm here),  rewind to this morning, I'm fucking stumbling around my kitchen completely disoriented because I don't have a hangover like I usually do.   I'm trying to make some coffee when I knock my Goddamn (see GD- soo gangsta) Zoloft behind the stove.  Seriously yo- right now is not a time for me to be off the meds, but I figure I'll just call in the refill and pick it up cause it was almost gone anyway.  I get home. Make the perfect vegan meal.  (Well it was vegetarian, but whose counting right?)  Call in the refill and am informed by the pharmacy that my insurance won't pay for the shit until tomorrow.  I start to panic. I need that shit.   It is an amazing mood elevator and appetite suppressant all at once.  I promised my self 6 months of of fucking serotonin treatment while I got my shit together.  I am not fucking missing 2 days of that shit.   I have a fucking 8 hour meeting with my boss tomorrow.  I go to the stove and I start trying to pull it out.  It is not fucking budging.  I discover that I will need  to tip to over.  I am trying to be careful because it's a gas stove and I will asphyxiate the whole house if I pull the line out of the wall. And I'm tipping, and tipping, and tipping. And Boom! I tip that motherfucker right over! The oven racks fall out. I break one of my burners.   But I get the fucking Antis. Triumphantly  I clutch the Zoloft in my hand and fantasize about how calm I will be taking today's dose before bed and tomorrows before my meeting. I will have such a sublime serotonin buzz that my boss' boss' boss (foreva,eva, eva?) could fuck with me tomorrow and I wouldn't give a shit. Then...  Crash! Boom!  Back to reality as my 4 year old shrieks "Oh no Mama!  How can this happen?  What will we do?  How will eat"  Really? This from the child that gets 90% of her meals from a restaurant? Melodramatic little shit.   And then it hits me. Women are fucking crazy because our Mother's are fucking crazy and they made us that way by doing crazy shit like almost ripping a gas line out of the wall so that we can have a fucking coping mechanism.   That's My Word.
R

Men are from the West Coast, Women are from the East Coast & the 3rd Coast is some Shit we made up in Texas

Well here it s Friday night again and BooBoo is off on Daddy Weekend.  So you know how your girls rollin'-that's right I'm getting drunk alone and eating a dinner consisting solely of carbs standing up in the kitchen.  Hell Yea.  Hope Ya'll are diggin the new page design thanks to my fav mom hommies Fiesty Charlie Writes and A Blonde Betty.  Check out their shit- its way different from mine, but like me, totally awesome. 

Lets get down to tha biz-nass- Men.  Since I can't be lucky enough to be a lesbian, you know I gotta deal with those motherfuckers.  Those of you that really know me know I'm not nearly as gangsta about men as I would appear to be upon 1st glance. I once had a very trusted (trusted only because I've stumbled through this world a long time looking for souls as fucked up as me, and he's top 5 fo sho) male source tell me  I "have unrealistic expectations of others".  My initial reaction was If you can't take the heat get yo ass up out the kitchen motherfucker.  But you know, I'm thoughtful and shit- I pontificated and decided he was right. (I know right, when are those fools ever right).  Initial reaction might be- but GD(oh shit!  I just realized abbreviating my blog name could also be God Damn- excellent) we live in an age where everyone only has the lowest of expectations of people. But look at what he really said- unrealistic, not to high.  So here's a hard motherfuckin truth ladies, that bullshit self help book about Mars and Venus was straight up about how it really goes down.  Men will never understand the following things about women:

When shit goes horribly terribly wrong, and by wrong I mean it didn't pop off the way we meticulously planned it, we cry.  We like to cry to release anger, frustration,sadness, joy, irritation with other bitches that are trippin.  We cry  That's what we we do.  So shut the fuck up and pass the tissue. 

We are convening the council to figure out all our problems.  Talking to our girl friends is right up there with crying(and vodka) when it comes to working shit out.  And yes were talking about you, probably in hateful way, that doesn't mean we hate you, except when we do.  Complaining about you, our job, our other girlfriends that are acting crazy prevents us from taking action that would be illegal and probably land us in jail.

The thought that losing 10lbs will completely change our life has been passed down by mothers to daughters for generations.  It is part of our genetic fabric.  Please, stop getting irritated when we talk about it. 

Ladies, don't get all smug and shit.  As long as you draw breath on this earth you will never understand the following things about men.

A man needs to fix shit like a fat kid needs cake.  A man must fix all things.   Your toilet, your car, your fucked up relationship with your parents.   If he can't, in his mind, he ceases to be a man.  Woman do not suffer from this, if we want something fixed, we call a man.  So STFU ladies when you just want him to listen and agree and he won't stop trying to fix it so you cry.  That's what men do.   They fix shit, because we ask them to.

When you ask him what he's thinking about, and he says 'nothing".  He means that shit.  That motherfucker ain't thinking about nothin'.  Except maybe sex and SportsCenter.  Quit trying to make your man into  Socrates.  Socrates was gay.  Do you feel a strong urge for a Socrates in your life?  That is why God made your hairdresser.  Leave that fool alone.

Finally Ladies, if you are an enthusiastic lover he gives a fuck if you ever lose that 10lbs. ( I really wanted to link Chris Rock here- but I can't find the bit on youtube where he says "if you like fuckin' marriage ain't for you" cause I'm to drunk. but here's some good shit that I love).   But fo real yo- if there is one thing being a Divorcee has taught me is that men love an enthusiastic lover.  And don't be a fake enthusiastic lover- if you're fakin it get divorced yo cause it doesn't get any better.  Men love that shit- so have some tequila, hit up the strip bar and get after that shit in your size 14 thong.

I know what you're thinking- you're thinking "Daaam Gangsta Divorcee"  You are so wise- why did you ever get divorced?" Listen up peeps- if you are truly meant to be, marriage counseling will help you.   If it doesn't help your actual marriage it will help you to be straight gangsta/ more able to cope as a divorcee.  I hope regardless of your status you hear the truth in my words. And!  Even though the 3rd coast is some shit we made up in Texas- RIP Pimp C- you know you made this shit a hit!  That's my Word.

The Rulz- Top 5 Dating Must Haves for the Gangsta Divorcee

Post # 1- The Rulz

If Hustle and Flow taught us nothing, it proved that it's hard out there for a pimp.  It is particularly hard in the suburbs, although that makes like zero sense to me given the high level of sexual frustration out here.    Here's another hard motherfuckin' truth, its even harder for the Gangsta Divorcee.  At 1st you think its gonna be a cake walk with the divorcee dating pool, but it doesn't take long to realize that no matter which team you come down on: Team A: "I look way hotter than all these mom jean peeps at the PTA, I'm gonna knock this shit out in like 20 minutes" or Team B: " Ms.Independent why would I want another one?  Surely one's enough"  When you finally dip your pedicured toe(cause you have some time to get your toes done that you are relived of duty Wednesdays, Thursdays and every other Friday) back in to the fucking river Styx that is dating, you need some rulz.  And those bullshit rulz for girls that still haven't managed to lock up their 1st husband ain't gonna work sister.  Let me help you out.

Rulz #1: The Shit Don't Pop off Like That:    make note of the observation in the introduction, those old rulz were made before you(or your mom June Cleaver) realized that, contrary to Disney's relentless marketing campaign; the shit don't pop off that way.  He's no night in white armor, fuck he's probably never been to England.  Stop laying awake at nite picturing your 2nd wedding barefoot on beach with just your kids, your parents, your best friend, and some bullshit white dress you bought at Banana Republic.

Rulz #2-Do The Math:  Q:Does he have more children than he has hands?  A: Yes he has 3. Follow Up from The Moderator: Fuck that.  If he has more children than he has hands, the likely hood that one of those little shits will get away from him is extremely high.  And because he's a man he'll look at you all pitiful and shit and beg for help reigning in a passel of brats that you have no genetic connection to, and that will just annoy you.

Rulz # 3 Be Sure his Ex-Crazy Bitch is on Par with your Crazy-Bitchyness: Establish by interaction #2 what his relationship with his baby-mama is.  Is she bat shit crazy?  That's fine, but you too should be bat shit crazy.  At this stage of the game , when there's children and child support involved everyone needs to  be on the same page.  You will never understand a woman whose still hurling calling him up 15 time a day to discuss that time he didn't clean up three fucking drops of spit up during a particularly colic-e period 15 years ago.   If you and your ex are all "Que cera it didn't work out let's be a grown up and do whats best for our child."  and they're still on the turnpike to crazy with no exit that shit will never work out between ya'll.   Don't believe me?  Alright Madame Curie, experiment with that shit and let me know how it goes.

Rulz #4 You Don't Fucking Have to Get back out There: Under no circumstances allow your fellow divorcee BFF's and/or your delusional never-been-married single friends convince you that you need to just back out there if some punk-ass dude that you would NEVER date asks you out.  Practice dating is for women without children who can't quit maxing out their credit cards buying shoes so they can afford their own nice fucking dinner. 

Rulz #5 Get it Right, Get it Tight: Look at you lucky girl!  You lost 30 lbs from stress and can wear your pre-1st wedding skinny jeans!  Congratulations!  Everyone hates you!  And even though you finally know what your mama meant when she said if you can't be happy you can at least be thin, you did the crime girl, do the time.  Under no circumstances ever is a divorce just 1 persons fault.  That shit can straight up be 99% to 1%, but check your self before you ride off into the sunset and start doing all that shit I told you not to do in rulz #1.   If you don't know how you contributed to the demise of marriage #1, you better figure it out.  Skip that step, and its straight ground hog day up in this motherfucker.  Your kids have already been through your daddy issues once girl, let's not do  that again mmkay?.

I hope theses Rulz will help you on your journey- I got like a million more because I'm a control freak, but I think this will do for now.  That's My Word.
R